Chapter Text
. . .
“Hawk? Hey, Hawkeye!”
The voice shook the doctor out of his half-slumber, causing him to rub his eyes. “Hmm? Mmm… how long was I out for?”
Trapper looked at his friend with tired eyes himself. Hawkeye was surprised his friend was still awake. “You’ve been out for a whole patient.”
“And I’m still hungry,” he bantered in a monotone voice. He stood up and threw his crimson stained gloves into the bin in the changing room.
“Go on back to the Swamp, Hawk. I can finish up here with Henry.”
Benjamin Franklin Pierce remained still in his place, looking around the room, dazed with fatigue. He was exhausted but he also wanted to help as many kids as possible before he could consider anything a success.
“Can’t, gotta go operate…” he put on another pair of gloves and started back into the operating room.
As he entered, he heard Trapper’s footsteps right behind him and a sound of objection come from Frank’s direction even though his vision blurred and he couldn’t actually see the so-called doctor.
“Colonel Blake! Pierce has been operating for nearly fourteen hours straight. He’s in no condition to operate!”
“I’m in perfect condition, Frank. I can’t even feel myself standing here trying to ignore you,” Pierce jested. Okay, not his best insult, but he figured everyone would cut him a break based on the amount of causalities they had been operating on.
“Go hit the sack, Pierce. I hate to say it but Frank’s right; you’re in no shape to operate,” Colonel Blake sighed tiredly.
“Can I get a ride back home in that case? Anyone?
Trapper grabbed a wheelchair in the corner and wheeled it over to where his friend stood, his body no longer straight, but beginning to curve and sink. “Hop on. I’ll give ya a ride.’
“I have always depended on the kindness of strangers…”
“How are you holding up, Trapper? Think you could come back after you drop him off?”
Trapper John McIntyre nodded. “Yeah, sure, Henry. I’ll be back.” He wheeled Hawkeye outside and put his mask down under his chin, taking a whiff of air.
“You okay, Hawk?”
It was a few moments before he answered back, as if he just realized Trapper had asked him something. “Yeah, yeah. Just dead tired.”
“I’d prefer you just to be tired without the dead part,” he replied as he stopped outside the Swamp.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Hawkeye agreed, nodding. “We have enough dead around here as it is. Oh, is this my stop so soon?” He reluctantly stood up and rubbed his eyes again. “When I wake up, I’ll take over for you.”
“Sounds like a date. Get some shut eye.”
Hawkeye took a second to try to come up with a clever remark but nothing came to him. His brain was fried, his back ached from standing for so long, his fingers felt like they were going to fall off. He just nodded instead and walked into the Swamp before nearly falling onto his cot and passing out completely.
He dreamed of good things back home. Homemade apple pies and pastries, the smell of coffee that was store bought, not Army packaged, and of the man he had kissed once and only once when he was a few years younger.
He heard faint noises in his tent after what seemed like only minutes and when he woke up, he felt he could still taste that kiss and felt a longing sensation in his chest.
“Captain Pierce? Are you awake, sir?” Radar’s voice filled the area.
Hawkeye groaned and hugged his pillow closer to him. “I am now, Radar. What’s going on?” He tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. He knew that the kid was only trying to do his job.
“Sir, Trapper just got out of Post-op and he’s on his way here. There’s more casualties due to arrive soon and you’re wanted in OR.”
Hawkeye would have normally thrown a pillow at him but if he left now, he would have a couple minutes to talk to his friend before the ambulance arrived. He rolled himself out of bed and followed Radar out where they parted ways by OR building.
He walked into the scrub room where he saw a tired looking Trapper scrubbing down and changing back into his regular army clothes.
“You look as exhausted as I feel,” Hawkeye remarked, putting on his operating bottoms.
Trapper glanced over at him and concern touched his face temporarily. “Still? Comin’ down with something?”
“Only the bad case of the sick-of-work-on’ums,” Pierce half-joked.
He saw his friend nod and chuckle. “You and I both, pal. But seriously.”
“Yeah, I’m fine, Trap. Thanks, though. I’ll feel a lot better if I can save a couple dozen lives,” he sighed, finishing up getting dressed. “Go sleep. I’ll meet you at Rosie’s Bar for a nightcap.”
Trapper, although he was as exhausted as Hawkeye had felt earlier still managed to smirk playfully. “See you later, sailor.”
Hawkeye smirked back and laughed softly to himself as the other man left the room. It was amazing how someone like Trapper McIntyre could lift up his spirits in this Hellhole. He didn’t know what he would do if he didn’t have a friend like him here. He’d probably go AWOL, truth be told.
He entered the room and was somewhat surprised and disheartened to see Frank Burns still in there but just standing off to the side observing.
“Was I just hallucinating earlier or didn’t you say that I was in no shape to operate, Henry? I’ve been asleep and woke up again and Burns is still in here! Why wasn’t he banished like I was?”
Frank stiffened and glared at Hawkeye over his mask. “Pfft! Some of us here can still do our jobs! Meanwhile, you’re back in your tent slacking off! We don’t need sleep!”
“Sounds like someone could use a nap,” Hawkeye replied as Klinger placed a body on the table in front of him and walked back out.
“Cool it, Frank,” Colonel Blake ordered passively. “Ease off, Hawkeye, he’s no longer operating. He’s just watching.”
“Good idea. Pay close attention, Frank, and you’ll get to see how real doctors operate. Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two.”
“Colonel!” Frank whined now, successfully allowing Hawkeye to imagine exactly how Burns was as a child.
Colonel Blake yawned into his mask before he shook his head.
“Enough now! Both of you, knock it off. I want silence in here and the sound of operating and the bare minimum of voices to fill this room. That’s an order!” Henry spoke with authority finally.
Hawkeye shut his mouth and got straight to work on the man who looked more like a boy, shrapnel visible in both his chest and his stomach. He took a deep breath in and focused on the task at hand, trying not to allow himself to think about what words he might write back to this man’s family if he was unsuccessful.
. . . . .
Hawkeye was grateful when his shift was over, nearly seven straight hours of meatball surgery, and it was nearly 9 p.m. now. He had grown tired of cutting into all the young men who were fighting a war that they didn’t ask to be a part of.
He quickly checked in with his other patients in Post-Op before getting changed and walking towards Rosie’s bar, following the dusty road. The fresh air felt good, even though it was warm. It made him feel less like breaking down. Each day was a battle and he could feel himself starting to come apart at the seams. If it wasn’t for Trapper, he’d get a section 8 and be sent into some institution.
As he walked inside, he wasn’t surprised to see it mostly empty. It was late and most everyone wanted to get to bed early so they could be ready and able if more surprise casualties arrived.
Everyone except for him, Trapper, and a couple other people at least.
He saw his friend almost instantly and walked over to his table. “You alone, handsome? Or can I join you?”
Trapper took a drink of his beer but was smirking into it. “Please, sit down.”
Hawkeye was going to sit down anyway but when he did, he relaxed in his chair, his back aching as it usually did after long hours in OR. “How long have you been here for?”
Trapper shrugged. “About an hour. What took you so long?”
“Sorry, had to sew up some kids who should be in school and not on the front lines,” he sighed and looked across the table. “How’re you feeling?”
“Fantastic. I was able to sleep in my bed instead of on my feet.”
“What can I get you, Captain?” Klinger asked him with a playfully smirk on his face. He must have come straight here from OR as well.
“Your driest martini that you can manage, and then double it.”
“Right away!” He left and brought it back a few moments later, placing it in front of Hawkeye. “Here you are, O Captain, my Captain.”
Hawkeye took a long drink from the glass before he realized Klinger was waiting for payment. “Put it on my tab.”
“I always do, but your tab is getting awfully long, sir…”
Hawkeye glanced up at him and grimaced. “Catch me next poker night.”
When Klinger was out of sight, Trapper raised his eyebrows. “Need a loan, Hawk?”
“That’s nice of you to offer but the last thing I need is a shark after me.”
Trapper shook his head and took another drink of beer, silence filling the space between them. It felt like a comfortable silence, though. It was a nice change from the clattering of operating tools and the murmuring back and forth of muffled voices.
The two men let the silence hang in the room for a while before Trapper spoke again. “Can I ask you a favor?”
Hawkeye straightened up in his chair. Trapper hardly ever asked for favors and if he did, it would have to mean a lot to him. He didn’t like owing anyone anything, something Hawkeye could relate to as well.
“Of course. What is it?”
“I need you to help keep an eye on a patient of mine in Post-Op. He has a head injury and he’s been touch and go since he arrived. Worried about him,” Trapper answered somewhat nonchalantly.
Hawkeye felt like he was only partially understanding, like there was something his friend wasn’t telling him but from the way Trapper was looking at him, he knew it wasn’t because lack of trust.
“Sure. Are you thinking brain damage or something?”
Trapper shook his head. “He knows the basics, the important stuff. His name, location, age, but… err… just watch out for him, yeah?”
He squinted his eyes playfully and took another sip. “What are you keeping from me, Trap? We’ve had tons of kids come here with head injuries. Why is this one special to you?”
Trapper sighed and put his hands up in surrender, still holding his beer. “Alright, fine. Remember Private Weston? The one who got beat up by his buddies?”
Hawkeye felt his heart sink into his stomach but he nodded.
“Well, this guy is like that guy. His buddies are like those buddies. Catch my drift now?”
Hawkeye finished his drink and ran a hand through his hair. “Right, yeah. I follow you. Have… have they done anything to him yet?”
“No, but I don’t want to wait until they do,” Trapper shook his head and looked at Hawkeye pointedly. “I just want to prevent it from happening at all.”
“I get what you’re saying, Trap, but… we can’t be in Post-Op all the time,” he tried to rationalize. He wondered if Trapper knew about him. He wondered if Trapper was asking him this favor because of what Hawkeye was. It would make sense.
“I’m not sayin’ we have to be, Hawkeye. We can have Klinger keep an eye out too. He’d understand. He was cool about Private Weston too. It’s Frank we have to be worried about. If he finds out about this guy, he’ll be first in line to out him to everyone else who don’t know, like the Army…”
Hawkeye nodded, this thought also having crossed his own mind more than he cared to admit. “Where he’ll be dishonorably discharged and a black spot on his record.”
“Exactly,” Trapper agreed before he finished his beer.
“Of course I’ll help you with him. What’s his name?”
Trapper stood up, the signal that it was time to head back to camp. “Private John Wilkins.”
Hawkeye also stood up and pushed in his chair before letting McIntyre lead them out back towards The Swamp. He decided he would check in on this man in the morning before breakfast; he didn’t want a repeat of what happened to Private Weston, and he felt like helping Private Wilkins would mean he’d be helping himself on some level. Maybe he could find a loophole in the Army that could somehow help him.
He didn’t know what he was hoping to find but he was more concerned with Trapper. Did he just bring this to him because of their past experience with a homosexual soldier or did Trapper know about him, about Hawkeye? Was this supposed to be some kind of sign that he knew?
He wasn’t sure what to believe, and it made him nervous to think about Trapper outing him. Being bisexual was still dangerous in this day and age. It was just as "bad" as being homosexual. Either way, he was still going to help this kid.